


Shiro.exe Has Stopped Working

by voltronexe



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A lot of you wanted a multi chap so I am SUPPLYING, Crossdressing, Emotions, It's 3 am LETS GO, Lance is 18, Lance is shameless and so am I, M/M, Partially Clothed Sex, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Shiro is 22, Taken from a Shance prompt on tumblr because I Am Shameless, This'll get kinkier as it goes on HOLD ON TO UR HATS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-08 07:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7748878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voltronexe/pseuds/voltronexe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Papi Chulo!” said the very underdressed teenager answering the door, jean shorts riding low on his waist and a top that looked like it was made to end right under his chest, but certainly shouldn’t be. The bedazzled front said la princesa and he heard a girl behind him shout, “Lance, are you wearing my shirt again?!” but he, Lance, sensually bobbed his hips and chimed a derisive, “Hush, you know I look better in it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Could Have Gone Better

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble written from a prompt on tumblr: http://iseveryoneelsenodding.tumblr.com/post/148623383641/someone-please-give-me-an-au-where-shiro-comes
> 
> "Someone please give me an AU where Shiro comes home from college and Lance is that neighborhood kid he used to babysit who grew up really hot."
> 
> (thank you for this holy fucc)

Apparently, the house had been untouched during his absence. Four years of college and his younger brother, Keith, had graduated and moved on; his mom, a free spirit with their dad gone, moved back to Japan and told Shiro that the house as _his_ even though he’d done nothing to deserve it. She told him that pursuing college was enough. Fresh out of classes, he arrived home and openly ogled at the state of the house.   
  
It was untouched, like she’d said, as if he’d never left in the first place.   
  
While shrugging off his jacket and walking inside, he couldn’t help but wonder if the house felt this empty to his mom, too. He fought off a shiver of unease and started down the hall. His door was still bland, slightly ajar, and when he pushed on the handle it creaked open. Light filtered eerily through his versed curtains and Shiro set his bags on his bed, _made_ , and began opening them one by one. There were three in total- clothes, necessities, and access schoolwork he had developed a strange attachment to.   
  
Whatever it was, having his small achievements surrounding him felt _rewarding_.   
  
He was just shutting away his clothes into drawers when his phone rung and he struggled to juggle the stack of jeans on his forearm and the mobile in his back pocket. He eventually tucked it into his shoulder, tilted his head into it, and resumed his work.   
  
“Oh, mom?” He shut the dresser with his hip and picked up a stack of shirts from his duffel, too. “Lance? Next door? Yeah, I remember him. Why?” He was having to stuff things in to make space now, despite being a very light shopper. Surely he couldn’t have gained too many more belongings at University, “Haha, yeah. He was pretty upset with me back then,” Shiro recalled a waterfall of tears when Lance had found out Shiro was leaving, hiccuping sobs, _pleas_ for him not to go, “See him _now_? It’s been four years and it’s not like I haven’t changed any, _お母さん_ . He probably won’t recognize me when I open the door,” but Shiro was more concerned about not recognizing _him_. Lance had been roughly fourteen years old when he initially left and _any_ amount of changes could have come to him in four years time.   
  
Worst case, Shiro would mistake him for one his brothers.   
  
“No, no. I get what you’re saying. _私はそれを得る_ . I’ll go say hi, I promise. Yes. Goodnight, _お母さん_.”   
  
An exasperated sigh left his lungs after he ended the call, never _truly_ annoyed with his mother, and decided that unpacking was better left for another day. As far as he was concerned, there was no food in his fridge and Shiro had virtually no money in his pocket. His mother, ever the coordinator, had suggested he stopped by the Mcclain’s for dinner, if _only_ to sate an appetite.   
Shiro closed his bags and jogged back into the living room. His jacket, slung over the back of the couch, made home stretched over his shoulders again. He withdrew his keys from the pocket and locked the door behind him, cautious despite the exterior looking _particularly_ abandoned, and enjoyed the short walk it was between his front door step and his neighbours.   
  
The greeting he got was expectedly eccentric. The Mcclain’s had always been a rowdy household because of its many occupants and without their constant hum of activity, the neighbourhood would seem _dead_. Shiro himself lived day by day relatively quietly, but even in the dorms he missed the outraged siblings and excessively doting parents, the lively atmosphere and _Lance_.   
  
Shiro swallowed over the lump in his throat.   
  
_“Papi Chulo!”_ said the _very_ underdressed teenager answering the door, jean shorts riding low on his waist and a top that looked like it was made to end right under his chest, but certainly _shouldn’t_ be. The bedazzled front said _la princesa_ and he heard a girl behind him shout, “ _Lance, are you wearing my shirt again?!”_ but he, _Lance_ , sensually bobbed his hips and chimed a derisive, “ _Hush_ , _you know I look better in it_.”   
  
Shiro’s eyes unconsciously followed the dip of his navel, then dark collection of hair beneath his belly button, the sway of his _whole body_ while he absently stood with music the rest of the household seemed really into playing noisily behind him. His mouth was dry, but he parted his lips to speak. Lance beat him to it.  
  
“Well, are you coming in? Your mom called beforehand, told us you’d need food, and knowing us, we’d have _plenty_ ,” his lips curled into a grin and Shiro felt his forehead break out into a hold sweat, “welcome back, _materia caliente_.”  
  
Shiro would have to remember later to ask what that meant.  
  
  


* * *

 

  
  
He was ushered to sit at a table with approximately five other people, two still working in the kitchen, and Lance sitting poised and across from him. He poked at his empty plate with his fork prongs and leaned on one hand, eyes trained on Shiro, who probably got a little more flustered than necessary with a flush developing under his collar.   
  
“So how did you, uh, know it was me?” He asked, head lifting at the sound of something clattering in the kitchen. Lance dismissed it with a wave and spoke with an underlying tone of amusement.    
  
“Pictures,” he quipped easily, “your mom forwarded the ones you sent to her right to me. Only because I asked her to, though,” Shiro jolted a little at the table and felt something prod his leg; Lances foot, “since I was  _ so _ lonely when you left.”    
  
“You have a full house here,” Shiro stated, a little thinly, his fingers gripping the edge of the table, “lots of siblings, two loving parents.” At this, Lance  _ scoffed _ .   
  
“It’s really easy to get tired of people you’re around 24/7.  _ Especially _ when you’re related.” He sat down his fork and slid back in his chair, appearing more focused at toeing at the front of Shiro’s jean in a way that should  _ not _ be done at the dinner table. Abruptly, Shiro stood up.   
  
Lance’s mom poked her head out of the kitchen at the sound, a pot of something that smelled  _ delicious  _ held through mitts on her hands. He desperately wanted to know what was inside.   
  
“Shiro, cariño?” She shifted her grip and swung the pot out into the open where it wafted. He mildly guessed  _ stew _ , “dinner is almost ready, are you alright?” Save for the coral tint on his ears, cheeks, and throat, he was  _ fine _ .    
  
“I just forgot that I had to do something at home,” unpacking, though he had already abandoned the idea that night, “thank you for having me over.” He ignored the smug look Lance cast his way and snatched his jacket off of the back of his chair. He shrugged it on while taking lengthened strides to the door and he heard a cordial call just before he shut the door.    
  
“Have a safe walk home,  _ mi amor. _ ”   
  
He went to bed hungry.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
It wasn’t even 4 am, but Shiro was roused by the sound of persistent knocking. They’d been going on for _ten minutes_ now and he realized with dread that he wouldn’t get any more sleep unless he _answered_ it. He groggily rose from his sheets, half a zombie and still dressed in his day clothes, and staggered down the hall till he reached the door.   
  
He fumbled for the knob for approximately thirty seconds before it was ripped open on it’s own and Shiro’s bowed gaze met a very familiar pair of shorts. This was unfair. He’d been home, what, eight hours?  
  
“Yes, Lance?” He murmured, more to the _doorframe_ than _him_. The hardwood was probably already creating sleep scars since his whole weight was against it, but he wasn’t prepared to move until a pair of hands pushed graciously into his chest. He stumbled back a few steps before he regained his balance. Lance’s face, illuminated by moonlight, was pink with-   
  
“God, you’re so _big_.” -exertion.   
  
“Sorry,” he scrubbed a hand over his face and watched him shut the door behind him. He didn’t know what he was doing here so late (or early?), but he wasn’t particularly conscious enough to kick him out. Besides, whatever happened at dinner _could_ have been a fluke.  
  
He highly doubted it.   
  
“It was a compliment, _genius._ ”  
  
Lance surveyed the living room he had spent his middle school years in, grimacing as he watched Shiro move to the couch and lean back, face towards the ceiling and exposing that lovely bit of neck that he’d wanted to mark up the moment he saw him again.  
  
Whatever it was that had changed in him, he realized that little kid _‘crush’_ was really a much more lethal attraction.  
  
Takashi felt a new weight on his lap, and he peeked open his eyes to find the smaller Latino boy making himself comfortable on his thighs, and suddenly he wasn’t as asleep. He reached, gripping him by the ass (completely unintentional, but the only thing he could grasp at that point), slipping him onto the cushion beside him. “No, no. None of that.”  
  
Lance whined, but instead swung his legs over the edge of the couch. They’d fit _much_ better around Shiro’s waist, but he’d let that slide for now.    
  
The older man couldn’t help but think about the time before he left. How small, soft, _innocent_ the young McClain had been. He was that kid who once set his boxers on fire by getting too close to the pit while camping. The kid who wouldn’t ever hurt a fly, but now…  
  
He should not be having such lewd thoughts about this boy.  
  
He physically shook them from his mind, smiling briefly, “remember that time when I fell on my arm, and you were laughing so hard milk shot out your nose because of the noise I made?” His memory of it was vague, but he was still glad he brought it up because of the wholly _undignified_ squeal Lance managed afterwards. His hands shot out to grab Shiro’s sleeve, his mouth susceptible to the most convincing pout he had _ever_ encountered.   
  
“I was a _kid_ ,” he groused, “I did all kinds of stupid shit back then.”  
  
He was still a kid _now_ , Shiro thought distantly, fingers sliding through Lance’s hair and tousling the strands playfully. The way he seemed desperate for attention was kind of cute in its own way, but there were lines he refused to cross- a past of babysitting and taking care of Lance concreted it, but as palms shifted from his arm up to his neck, knuckles gingerly brushing his nape, the asphalt _crumbled_ and.  
  
He wished he still had a resolve.   
  
Shiro sighed and slipped his arm around Lance to cup his naked hip, propping him against his side, and making a grab for the remote before his hand could occupy itself with _anything_ else. The screen flickered a few times, primarily from misuse and age, until the Netflix loading image flittered across the screen. Shiro sagged back into the couch, still half-asleep, and flinched when Lance moved from sitting still to absently tracing the lines of his arm. The sensation was strangely tactile, but the action was innocent enough that he didn’t pull away.   
  
“We used to cuddle like this when you were a kid,” he observed, “you claimed that sleeping next to someone was the only way you were ever going to get any sleep,” He loosely rotated his shoulder and brushed his thumb over Lance’s wandering hands, “was it because of your siblings, always being surrounded by them?” He never took his eyes off of the loading screen. Eventually, he was able to scroll through a selection of movies and shows before he just played _Legally Blonde_ and resumed running his mouth, “is it still like that now?”  
  
He couldn’t help asking with Lance showing up out of the blue like this, curled at his side, making advances so _bold_ that Shiro abrasively wondered what happened to the little kid who used to ask for help reaching the cereal boxes on the fridge. It was strange sitting like this while Lance was a more solid presence at his side, constantly moving, _breathing down his neck_.   
  
He was beginning to get unwelcome chills.   
  
“No,” he heard Lance say, “I grew out of that years ago,” he spoke through a haze and Shiro leaned towards him, eyes lidded, “I still can’t believe you’re here. I missed you so much, Shiro, you wouldn’t even _believe_.”  
  
But he could.   
  
The limb sandwiched between the small of Lance’s back and the couch suddenly lifted him and pulled him back at the same time, his knee almost shuffling off of the couch when he placed it next to Lance’s hip. He towered over him, threateningly so, but the pure agony in his expression betrayed his stance. Lance brazenly gripped his biceps, bent at the elbow and sitting on either side of his head.   
  
“What are you trying to get me to do?” Shiro asked, head bowing as he skimmed his nose along Lance’s upturned jaw, his hips arching eagerly in turn with his advances. The older felt his stomach coil and he unhurriedly scraped his teeth over his fluttering pulse.   
  
This was Lance he was pinning. _Lance_.  
  
“To,” And the teen shifted his legs, the width of the cushions giving him just enough room to wedge them around Shiro. He squeezed his knees inwards and watched him nearly double forward, Lance grinding, a choked gasp tumbling haltingly from his throat, “ _fuck_ me.”  
  
The admittance was followed by him grabbing the back of Shiro’s head and promptly slotting their lips, his teeth making a frequent appearance to _bruise_ his and to listen in awe as he swallowed Shiro’s groans with every dip of his tongue. He dazedly realized that his arms moved, Shiro’s fingers pressing feverently into Lance’s thighs as he thrust against his forming erection and ruined the kiss to moan brokenly into his collarbone.   
  
From there, Shiro marked him ardently until his dark flesh blossomed with avaricious color and brutal impressions. Lance was both brittle and _pliant_ in his hands and his fingers snuck to palm himself through the front of his shorts, the button popped open from every sinful flex of his stomach, a grin seated on his face to match. Shiro had lost this battle, _fiercely_ , and emphasized this fact by watching Lance unzip them, too, and stroke himself to full hardness. Shiro swallowed.  
  
“Okay,” He murmured belatedly into his marked throat, scraping his teeth over the tinctures, “ _I’ll fuck your brains out.”_ __  
__  
Lance’s pace miraculously stuttered and he came in thick, white cords over his exposed stomach; _la princesa_ unspared. He flushed, clearly embarrassed, and floundered with his now-free hands. A laugh bubbled in Shiro’s chest and he grabbed one of them, brushed his lips over Lance’s knuckles, and whispered lowly, “I’ll take care of you.”  
  
Shiro sat back and removed his shirt, relishing in the way the others eyes widened marginally and a curious hand crept forward to smooth over his stomach.   
  
“Fuck, you’re sculpted,” Lance tipped his head back in disbelief, a chuckle rising from him that mirrored Shiro’s, “and I am _really_ into that.” Curiously, he gyrated his hips and watched the older bend over him again and _growl_. Between Shiro’s magic fingers and obstructed, _beautiful_ view, Lance was unsure of when his shorts became less of an obstacle, lost somewhere in the room, his stunning amount of confidence the only thing keeping him grounded. He definitely didn’t mind, especially when a damp finger prodded his ass.   
  
“W-Where’d you get-”  
  
“Couch,” Shiro told him, the open bottle laying across his thigh. He hadn’t even heard him open it. He received little to no warning before the muscles of his entrance were breached and his toes curled, a cry lodged in his throat, two of them knuckle deep and scissoring into his heat. Lance helplessly writhed, Shiro’s name on his tongue, falling out as he thrust his palm flush against his taint, nothing short of _babbling_ all he was capable of.   
  
“S-Shiro, I, I can’t- Oh my _god_ ,” his voice dissolved into a needy sob, interrupted by a third bump and Shiro twisting his wrist. Lance was seeing _stars_. All too soon Shiro was removing his hand, wiped it off on his pant leg, a loud exhale expanding his chest as he pulled himself out of his jeans, not removing them completely, and _woah_.   
  
Lance had definitely fallen for the right guy.   
  
Shiro slicked himself up with what was left of the lube and patted Lance’s thigh, whistling in amusement as both legs obediently raised and rested smoothly onto his shoulders. Exposed, Lance’s fingers snuck further down and he used his thumbs to spread his ass, lip clamped under his teeth, a heavy flush darkening his cheeks. He nudged himself closer, riddled with anticipation, and was thoroughly _pleased_ with the view he got of Shiro strained, sweaty, gripping his cock as he guided it into Lance’s dripping hole.   
  
“ _Fuck_.” Shiro sunk forward, hissing, until he hit the backs of Lance’s thighs. He experimentally massaged his legs and took care in watching him flex responsively under his touch, nails now digging into Shiro’s clothed legs as he subtly rocked. All of ten seconds had passed before he moaned, “ _move_.”  
  
He didn’t need a reminder.  
  
Shiro leaned fully over him, one hand gripping the leg hooked over his back, and began _fucking_ him with reckless abandon. Lance made breathlessly noises with every thrust and Shiro pinned his shoulder back with his other hand, hips moving, skin slapping, Lance hazily mentioning the welcomed scrape of Shiro’s zipper against his thighs. He screwed Lance into the couch with a hidden desperation, panting as he slowed and eventually just rocked into Lance’s heat.   
  
He ignored the whines of protest he met and said firmly to, “ _flip over_.”  
  
Lance gaped at him, mouth bruised prettily, and twisted his entire body to his hasty command, the curve of his back inviting as Shiro gripped his hip and absently swept his thumb into the crevice. He fisted his fingers into the back of Lance’s too-short top and pulled him into his pace, quivering imperceptibly as Shiro fucked him open, chest shuddering with the occasional grunt, and hushed cries music to his ears.   
  
He came without ever being touched.   
  
Shiro still swayed into him and with a few hip-snapping thrusts, emptied into Lance. He squirmed, whimpering as he slowly left him, and turned his head to dare look at Shiro’s face.   
  
He was flushed down to his chest, was beautifully unmarked, and ran a hand through his hair before he tucked himself back into his jeans. Lance audibly swallowed, the realization of his nakedness hitting him like a ton of bricks. Before he could freak out, Shiro placed a calming hand on the center of his back and passed him his shorts. The older had gone back to sitting normally, this time bowed forward, his head practically between his knees.   
  
“Your mom is gonna be __so mad at me.” He’d suddenly become withdrawn, silvery bangs mussed as he raked his fingers through them again and again. Lance sighed, draped himself against Shiro’s arm and whispered cutely in his ear.   
  
“She can’t be mad about something she doesn’t know about, right?” 


	2. Stranger Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u guys!!! wanted this!!! so badly?? i am not 1 to keep customers waiting so

That night, after Lance walked himself home, Shiro had good dreams.   
  
Scratch that-  _ Great _ dreams.   
  
It was a flurry of sensations and images, of heat and of Lance, occupied by his shape and the way he easily fell apart in his hands and the way it felt when his head rolled back and exposed his discolored throat and Shiro’s name rolled seamlessly off of his tongue like a trained  _ prayer _ . He cursed himself for the longest time, lying awake in bed after a very fitful sleep and his memories of Lance just hours before so brilliant in his mind.   
  
Lance under him was just so  _ blinding _ and Shiro wasn’t sure he could look him in the eye after all of that.   
  
He instead sighed and crossed his hands over his stomach. Groceries weren’t going to buy themselves, his bags weren’t going to unpack themselves, but he was busy... _ coping _ . A relationship where Shiro had defined himself as a rolemodel had become something  _ primal _ and  _ sexual  _ and-   
  
Purely Lance.   
  
Shiro was going to take the fact that his shorts brought on very uncomfortable  _ headway _ in lower places to the grave but  _ damn _ if the current Lance didn’t bring a wave of titillation with him. He could still feel the insistent press of his fingers in his forearms; there were no bruises but the stimulation was there and buzzing just beneath his skin like a hive of bees. He wagered the feeling would never leave.   
  
And his gaze, clouded, glanced at the clock. 11:53. At this rate, he’d simply rot in bed.    
  
It was a miracle he was even lucid, after that.   
  
But he rolled to his feet eventually, stiff in muscles he never really used, and a groan working its way past his lips as he stumbled out of his bedroom and into the hall. Just as he shuffled his way into the living room, Shiro heard knuckles on the door and he had a temporary kickstart at assuming that it was Lance and the weirdest part was that it  _ was _ him, dressed semi-normally but still in shorts that killed Shiro and an obnoxiously large basket crowding his side. His grin was large, slanted, and he let himself with a gentle brush of his fingers and breath hot against Shiro’s collarbone.   
  
He wanted to melt into the floor for getting a little turned  _ on _ by it.   
  
“Brought you breakfast,” he said, “and lunch if you don’t have the stomach of a bear like my mom thinks you do,” He passed the basket into Shiro’s arms, “it’s mostly biscuits, leftovers from last night so refrigerate those for later, and her best cookies, oh my  _ god _ . I think half of us died fighting over who got the ones you weren’t getting.” The playful lilt in his tone was some kind of pace Shiro was drawn into and he listened to Lance talk animatedly, eyes lit up in an endearing sort of light. Shiro was unsure of when he got to the couch before the basket was lifted out of his hands and put on the coffee table.   
  
He looked up, theorized that he was still half asleep,  and then it was replaced by Lance, stoutly cupping his hips with his knees and tracing his fingers over the taut lines of Shiro’s chest. The brash curl of his lips was doing him in, Shiro was  _ drowning _ in Lance, but he sat rigid and awkward back against the couch cushions until something touched his lips.   
  
A biscuit.     
  
“You’ve been spacing this whole time and your stomach growled, like,  _ six times _ . I figured I’d play nice guy and,” he slapped Shiro’s shoulder, beaming, “feed you! I’ll come shopping with you later today for some base ingredients and all that jazz, who  _ knows _ what you were feeding yourself back at university, but,” his fingers smoothed over his neck and he cupped his nape, expression pondering and expressing livening. He dragged his lips across Shiro’s cheek, bringing his mouth next to his ear, “ _ i’ll take care of you _ .”   
  
Shiro was fucking screwed.   
  
“Uh,” he was being very absentminded today, “alright?” And he bit into the end of the biscuit, flakes falling on his shirt, brows raised marginally. He was suddenly capable of coherent,  _ nonsexual _ thoughts, “okay wow. Those are kind of  _ amazing _ .” He raised a hand and plucked it out of Lance’s. The rest of it vanished in his mouth and he grinned hugely up at him, “thanks for bringing them over.” And _ politely _ removed the squirming teen from his lap. Again.   
  
“No problem,” he chirped, but seemingly a little  _ put  _ off for being moved, “it’s the least I could do after last night.” Shiro facepalmed. Literally.    
  
“Look, Lance, we need to talk about that.” He wiped his clammy hands off on his pants, ones that he had forgotten to change out of the night prior, and leaned his cheek against the back of the couch. Externally, he was drained. Internally? Fucking wrecked. He was a little concerned over the panicked expression that briefly crossed Lance’s features and he immediately reached out, fingers situated across his thigh.   
  
The gesture was meant to be comforting, but it just set a fire in Shiro’s gut.   
  
Lance’s bare skin was something to be trifled with.   
  
“I’m not bringing this up to  _ deny _ it ever happened or anything. I just...need to know where we stand,” He shuffled anxiously into the couch and huffed, “I used to know, but now it’s kind of...jumbled up? I mean, I really just, I don’t…”  
  
He was chewing his lower lip, fidgeting, running his hand through his hair. His mind was a mess -- a tornado of emotions and thoughts that were all boiling down to  _ Lance, Lance, Lance  _ \-- and he just needed to chill. Needed to think.

  
He must’ve stayed quiet for too long because he heard a sputtering noise, fingers on his cheek. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to make it weird if you won’t.” And something in Shiro’s chest tugged and he tipped forward into Lance’s hands and very softly _kissed_ him. He’d been longing for it all night, the placid plush of Lance’s lips against his, the tickle of his lashes created by their proximity, the warmth of his palms latching onto his face so Shiro couldn’t change his mind.   
  
What was supposed to be a peck turned into something more at the taste of peppermint washing hotly over his tastebuds, invading every inch and crevice of his mouth as Lance’s tongue soothed rhythmically over his teeth. He pushed into him, humming, and Shiro ended up under lance with his hands resting innocently on his naked hips. The noises lance was making were obscene and Shiro fought down a blush, his instincts, the urge to flip Lance over and _remind him all of last night_.   
  
Whew, was it getting hot in there?  
  
His head fell back and they separated, Lance flushed and looking like he’d just dropped his _ice cream_. Shiro couldn’t recall any other time where he’d compared himself to a frozen confectionary and noisily cleared his throat. Lance, hovering over him and grinding lazily into his thigh was still very obviously pouting and Shiro rubbed circles into his skin with his thumbs. He kept his gaze distracted and far away, another remark about their predicament lodged in his throat, but Lance nosing his collarbone quickly shut him up and he soon molded himself into his relaxed state.   
  
Now it was just them, cuddling, Lance sporting an erection he so badly wanted to swallow down; a thought so fleeting, but so sudden that his throat went dry.   
  
Shiro didn’t let the cuddling last for too long after that. He lifted his head, untangling himself from him and hearing yet another noise of discontent, but flashing him a kind smile and rubbing his palm up his thigh.  
  
‘ _I’m whipped’_ was going to be his mantra.  
  
“I have to shower and then we can go shopping. You can watch a movie if you want.” He strode into the hallway and just barely caught Lance’s disgruntled, “i’ll just _nap_.” emphasis, on the p, the kind of drawl screwing his lips that Shiro found his gaze lingering on. He replied with an unfocused grunt and slipped into the bathroom, out of his shirt, and shimmied out of his jeans to step under the hot spray.   
  
He’d turned it on as he entered and the water hitting his muscles was the equal to total _bliss_ and the spent the first few minutes in the shower simply ruffling his fingers through his hair until it was thoroughly soaked. Several minutes of lathered soap and soaking in steam later, he stepped out in a towel and very visibly jumped at the scene in the bathroom doorway, probably opened by Lance, who was leaning against the frame with a tempted smile on his lips and eyes below Shiro’s navel.  
  
“The towel is in the way.”   
  
It was going to be a very long day.

* * *

  
Shiro left the house fully dressed, Lance practically attached to him by the hip, the wheel the only solid presence under his hands when he climbed into his car. It was sleek, black, a make he couldn’t recall the name of but would roll with practiced ease off of his tongue if you asked, and achingly pristine. The model itself was a little much for a financially struggling college student, but the immaculate inside was the icing on the cake. Lance wouldn’t stop groping the seats.  
  
“This is a thousand times more comfortable than our Volkswagen beetle, believe _me_.” He twisted in his seat to glance into the back and Shiro took the opportunity to reach over Lance without being directly in his face, fingers catching the seatbelt as he pulled it taut over his spine. Said teen immediately swiveled around and sat upright face pink. “I’m not five, I can do that _myself_.”   
  
Shiro drummed his fingers on the wheel and offered a distracted, “I know,” while backing out of his driveway.   
  
The look in Lance’s eye told him that he was only barely upset by his gesture, and when he folded his hands in his lap _like the good boy he was_ , Shiro allowed himself to relax. He leaned forward and flicked the radio on, before tossing the boy his phone. “Put on whatever you’d like.”  
  
He’d expected something upbeat, contemporary, but he simply put on soft hip-hop that made his skin crawl. Still no sound from Lance, and it made his wonder, brow quirked slightly with an arch to his mouth as he glanced over. “Do you still get car sick easy?”  
  
“What? No!” He huffed, staring over at him. “That’s _Hunk_. I can’t believe you’d mistaken me for him! Hunk threw up in your mom’s car, like, twelve times. I was the one always cleaning it up.” His tone sounded relatively defensive, but Takashi couldn’t help but chuckle.  
  
“You get car sick, you just don’t throw up.”  
  
Silence. Then, “okay. You win.”  
  
“I remember a lot more than you think I do, champ,” he murmured, turning left down onto the main street and relishing in the familiarity of it all. The whole town was still the same. Everything was still the same.  
  
Except Lance.  
  
“I remember my fifteenth birthday when you didn’t have the money to get me a present, and so you decorated a rock for me. I still have it, you know.” The memory seemed to bubble in the teen’s head as well, since he leaned down a bit and began to laugh himself, toying with the fraying ends of his shorts.  
  
“Why did you keep that thing? It’s horrendous.” He smiled, looking straight up into Shiro’s eyes, who was peering at him through his peripheral.  
  
“Because it was a present. I’m not going to throw it away simply because you didn’t get me something extravagant. I’m sentimental. And I still appreciate what you’ve given me.”  
  
Lance couldn’t help the laugh that erupted and became a little louder as time went on, and only stopped when Shiro parked the car. He took a moment to readjust himself, smiling so brilliantly that the man could only compare him to a star.  
  
He crawled out, then opened his companion’s door, who nodded in thanks and immediately attached himself to his arm. Shiro figured he would indulge him, allowing his arm to hook so the small crevice of his elbow could be occupied by the smallness of his hand. The presence of Lance at his side was oddly mundane, even more so when they didn’t detach even upon entering the store, and Shiro found himself humming as he idly perused the aisles.  
  
Lance was the only one with enough mind to grab a basket, and to fill it with necessities. Not a lot of it was produce or veggies thanks to Shiro’s exemplary cooking skills (he sorely lacked) that only a sleep deprived, stress-riddled college student would possess, that Lance mocking him openly about. He picked up a small, red-lidded container filled with something grainy and white among the shelves and waved it in his face.

  
“Do you even know what this is?” And dumped it in the quickly filling basket over his arm.    
  
“Of course, I do; reading labels aren't exclusive to people still in school,” he needled, seeing  _ cream of tartar _ ,  and leaving their tangled arms to grab a package of rice crackers off of the shelf. He was practically drooling at the thought of having them with hummus, a good movie, or fingers moving distractedly over a keyboard to fill out the resume he so desperately needed to complete.    
  
He assumed it was going to be the latter and sneakily slipped them alongside a stalk of celery.    
  
He found hummus two aisles over, while Lance seemed to be scanning the shelves and deciding right then and there what Shiro needed in his fridge- and frankly, he wasn’t in any condition to complain. If there was anything about himself he would deem healthy, it wouldn’t be his copious intakes of coffee or the take-out he ordered with a wallet presenting a few well earned bills, or the bag of Fritos managed with a handful of coins he scavenged from beneath his mattress.    
  
He’d think more of his mornings filled with jogging, his controlled daily water consumption, and.  _ And _ .    
  
Lance.    
  
Shiro suddenly felt unsteady on his feet; here he was milling around, shopping with a version of Lance he couldn’t yet discern, entranced by the rhythmic sway of his hips and the way he muttered crossly in Spanish at an unexpectedly high price. It was  _ cute _ , the way he was concerned about money, knowing Shiro, this poor bewitched soul, was paying and was obviously enchanted by this, their proximity, the domestic setting, and ignoring the heat shared plainly between them.    
  
When Lance reached, his shirt rode up, and skimming his usually unmarred flesh were the unmistakable finger shaped bruises created unthinkingly by Shiro, striking against his hips, and Shiro had to pull his collar; he was hot, burning up, probably with a fever, and a volcano,  _ Lance _ , burst into his vision with a grin flirting his lips.    
  
“All done,” he singsonged, “ready to check-out?”    
  
Shiro was two seconds away from checking himself into a  _ hospital _ .    


* * *

  
Turns out Lance was either a magician or an architect; he’d built a mountain in that one basket and Shiro had to carry in two armfuls of groceries while Lance helpfully held the door open for him and put things away. Shiro just leaned back against the counters, arms crossed, watching him open cabinets and cupboards and drawers he’d never even touched.   
  
His eyes raked down the dip of his spine, his purpled skin, the bottoms of the shorts that just barely covered his ass and registered through a haze that Lance was speaking, telling him what went where, and proved he wasn’t entirely oblivious to his stare when he hiked himself up the counter enticingly spread his knees. Shiro’s vocal cords sounded shredded with he spoke, grave, like there was a lawnmower on his tongue instead of words.  
  
“And eggs in the fridge, right?” his fingers splayed neatly over his exposed thighs, thumbs pressing into the delicate curvature between his legs. He pressed his mouth to his ear, mouthing unhurriedly against his jaw, and hooded grey eyes traced the carton again, on the counter beside them, still untouched apart from its removal from the bag. It was enough of a mental break for him to take a deep breath and murmur, “remember that time you kept waking up with eggs in your bed and you were convinced they were yours and you were going to raise them into young, respectable chicks but they never hatched? That was me, incidentally. The eggs, not the chicks. If I remember correctly I think it  was around Easter time? It was _supposed_ to be a prank because I thought you were going to roll over and break them or something, but it kind of never happened.” He cupped Lance’s waist, chin resting on his shoulder while he smiled fondly at the memory. Lance had gone rigid.  
  
“And I never had the heart to tell you otherwise until now because you were so dedicated to becoming a mom. It was adorable. _You_ were adorable.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Lance was shoving his chest. Hard. It made him stumble back, nearly slip because, woah, _socks on tile_ , and search Lance’s face for an expression he could read and recognize.  
  
But this was not one.  
  
“Adorable enough to screw into your couch?” He launched himself off of the counter, towards Shiro, sounding _breathless_ , “to flip over and order around? To practically make me scream on your cock?”   
  
The words that rolled off of the smaller boy’s tongue dumbfounded him, and he felt himself get pressed closer and closer to the opposing wall, with nails raking down his chest. This had caught him nearly completely off guard, and he swallowed thickly as his eyes wandered over an expression he still could not pinpoint.  
  
“I’m not some trophy kid anymore, Shiro. I’m all grown up now. I’m not _adorable_ or _cute_ or _innocent_ anymore. And,” he began to lean in, raising himself onto the tips of his toes and nipping his earlobe, sending a shockwave of feeling into Shiro’s core, “I’m sick and tired of you being so damn _delicate_. Stop beating around the bush. Stop acting like you don’t want me when I can see and feel it. If you want to fuck me, then fuck me. Don’t try and change the subject every time you get an urge.”  
  
Shiro’s hands hovered and his chest ached with the proclamation, the truth of them prominent in his very bones and it was more like sinking your fingers into damp sand than it was flipping a switch, slowly carving out a path, handfuls of _something_ making his chest rumble when he encircled Lance’s waist with one arm and pressed them flush together. The heat of Lance’s exhales fogged across his collarbone and there was that molten feeling again. It was fire under his skin, lava in his veins, what drove him to punishingly crush their lips together until he felt the younger’s groan on his tongue. 

  
Slim fingers hooked in his shirt, stretching the fabric to his will until Shiro bent further forward until he was practically towering over lance. There was the hum of laughter into his mouth, teeth sinking into the plush of his lip, an impassioned gasp fashioned by Shiro’s patient, deviating palms. They searched restlessly for more skin, pushing Lance’s shirt up to fit perfectly into the punitive discolorations there, nails carving red roads into his flesh. He arched up into Shiro, chest fluttering, their molded lips satisfying his shameless urges.    
  
When they parted their mouths were swollen, bruised, and Lance playfully ran his fingers over Shiro’s lips. He grinned delightedly and relented his hold on his t-shirt. It was, unfortunately, unsalvageable. The fact that he was unspared of Lance’s enthusiasm told him he didn’t care.    
  
“You’re new,” he gasped, tilting his head back against the cabinets, “I don’t know you yet.” Lance smoothed his hands over his arms, composed, and melted wholly into Shiro, who contentedly roped his other arm around him to better support his weight.    
  
“You say that like I’m a stranger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lance: *tries to flirt*  
> shiro: remember that time u wanted to b a mom
> 
>  
> 
> shiro is the reason why we cant have nice things. nice things being smut. that comes next chap, lmao


	3. Drop Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now we're getting into generic gay porn. u ready

Lance’s words made him smirk, and as he gathered himself together again, he tucked his fingers into the hairs on the back of the boy’s neck, ruthlessly pulling him close and smashing their lips together. He felt the reel of the other, the surprise and listened to the little whimper of it as it rolled off his tongue, but Shiro couldn’t care less. His free hand moved to clasp Lance’s wrist in his palm, holding it behind his back as the hand in his hair tugged down, exposing his throat.  
  
“Shiro--” He heard him start to protest, but the moment the older scraped his teeth over his Adam’s Apple he groaned instead, pressing his hips into the other’s. It was flames lapping his skin, and he shamelessly left a deep, purple mark into the tanned flesh along his collarbone, flicking across his lips and bringing his mouth up to his ear.  
  
“You said not to resist any urges. So how about being a _good little boy_ and sliding off those shorts for me? They hardly cover anything, anyway. You really wanted to show off to me, huh?” The sudden shift in attitude drew a prolonged groan from Lance, short nails scrambling for purchase in the folds of his clothes.  
  
But Shiro released him, took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest. His mind was just _Lance_ , undeniably sexy when he was as flustered as he was then, obviously hard and wanting to comply. He watched as he shoved his thumbs into the jean loops, and felt his jaw drop and brows raise at what was _underneath_.  
  
These were new.  
  
Shiro had to cup his mouth as he exposed the thin, pure-lace, onyx panties that played so beautifully against the dark of his skin, and he couldn’t help his gawking. It was unexpected but pleasant, and he desperately wanted to touch him with those on.  
  
He must’ve been caught staring. Lance, breathlessly, stepped out of his shorts and then had, at some point, removed his shirt, was staring him down with embarrassment coloring his ears. “Do you like them?”  
  
“Like them?” He murmured, eyes swiveling around his body as he let them ride up to his eyes, deep as an ocean, the smile placed on his lips more than friendly. “You look beautiful, Lance.”  
  
After taking his fill of a look at him, he adjusted himself in his own jeans, swiping his thumb across his bottom lip and _twirling his finger in a circle._ A motion for him to turn around and the excitement seemed to grow on Lance’s face as he did just that because the article of clothing left _nothing_ to the imagination.  
  
It was a thong. How cute.  
  
Shiro placed his hands on the other’s hips, dragging his teeth down his neck and feeling him arch under his fingertips, hot breaths timely fanning his cheek. After only a moment, he pressed his knuckles into his spine and forced him to bend over against the counter top, kissing down the sides of his back and beginning to slowly drop to his knees.  
  
“What are you doing?” He was questioned, but a smack to the other’s thigh was his signal to be silent. The older fluttered his eyes shut, kissing his left cheek and biting down hard enough to suck another blossom into flawless skin, shamelessly toying with the other side in his hand.  
  
“Keep quiet.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
He nodded, kissed the mark and moved forward, looping his finger around the loose fabric and pulling it to the side, experimentally licking a stripe across his entrance and feeling the wiggle and surprised gasp of the boy above him. His slight growl was another warning, swallowing once before teasingly doing it again, shutting gray irises tight and smiling at the taste of _his_ boy. _His_ Lance.  
  
He licked once, twice, before just barely dipping the tip of his tongue in and sensing the tension thicken and make his body writhe. Pushing deeper in, he rotated his tongue in circles and slipped a finger in beside it so when he pulled his face back, he was able to move the digit and work into Lance.  
  
“Okay. I want to hear you now.” And he didn’t even have to wait a second before the withheld moan escaped his teeth and it was _heavenly_. Something he could admit he really did like was the sound of pleasure. And Lance sounded like an angel. All the meanwhile, he twitched helplessly under his tongue and fingers. When he curled them just inside the rim of Lance, a broken moan skidded jaggedly over his vocal cords and his entire body tipped blindly forward.  
  
Shiro steadied him by the hip and leaned in. He pressed open mouth kisses to his entrance, tongue flattened against it and humming to send various vibrations up into his core and coax him into getting harder. Though he didn’t know how that’d be possible, not with the grinding Lance was doing up against the drawer, and he swiped his hand over his length, _just once_ , to play.  
  
“Shiro,” he gasped out but wasn’t given more. Not yet.  
  
Slipping in another finger, Lance spasming helplessly around him, Shiro spat down him and allowed it to be used as a poor imitation of lubricant as he stretched him, climbing back to his feet and biting onto his shoulder. “Did I tell you that you taste amazing, baby?”  
  
The praise seemed to work in his favor, as he was given a wide and enthusiastic smile, the blush only seeming to gain ground every time he spoke. He ran his fingers through his hair, the ones working his ass curling and twisting until he watched Lance’s body arch up _gorgeously_ and he knew he’d found the right spot. He repeatedly made sure to hit it, his goal to make him make as loud of a noise as possible, the smirk never leaving his teeth.  
  
He pressed in a third finger, moved only twice, before halting his movement. He wanted him to wait. He wanted him to _beg.  
  
_ “Shiro? Why’d you stop?” His voice was almost nonexistent, but Shiro was busy kissing along his neck and leaving hickeys, and he was getting impatient.  
  
“Shiro. Move.” He didn’t answer. “Move. Come on, now. Don’t leave me hanging.” Still nothing. Except now his hand had run over Lance’s cock and was pressing his thumb hard into his slit, restricting him the best he could. “ _Fuck,_ Shiro. Shiro. Don’t make me stoop that low.”  
  
He moved his finger across his head, in circles, stimulating him but not as much as he knew he wanted. He was kissing onto his shoulder blade when Lance _whined,_ and Shiro smirked senselessly into the bruised curve of his shoulder.  
  
“Aren’t you gonna beg for me, pretty boy?”  
  
“Fuck no. I don’t beg.” He seemed insistent on that, and he took it as a challenge. Shiro was going to make him beg before he did anything else. And so he withdrew the fingers in his ass, licking them and sucking on the tips before using it to pump the boy, while the other hand kept firm on his head.  
  
“C’mon. I know you want to.” He whispered it, right in his ear as he rolled his hips up and against the back of Lance’s thighs, grinding, just as desperate as he was but not letting it show. He had better control over himself that the squirming teen did, eyes shut tight and chewing so hard on his lower lip he was sure it would start bleeding at any moment.  
  
“If you say it, then I might consider it.” He rumbled, speeding up his hand and hips and watching in wonder as his facade gradually crumbled.  
  
He left his hand on his head and began squeezing and playing with his ass cheek, his thumb occasionally dipping into his slicked entrance.  
  
And when Lance broke, it was just as glorious as he thought it’d be.  
  
“ _Fuck, Shiro, please.”_ It came suddenly, but he figured the heat in his stomach was starting to tear him down. He could feel the shaking in his knees and his elbows, but he wasn’t satisfied.  
  
“Please, what?”  
  
“Please fuck me. _Please_. I can’t -- can’t take it anymore. Oh fuck, please. I’m serious. Fuck me. Make me feel good. I’m so close already, please, _fucking fix me_.” His words sounded watery, and Shiro cocked an eyebrow but was finally ready to obey his wishes. He unzipped his pants, rolling them down to his mid-thigh, and took only a moment to slam into him. Quick and sharp, with no say. Lance jerked forward with a choked shout, fingers scrabbling for granite, folding himself in half over the counter space. Shiro’s incompetence in the kitchen was currently a blessing because he kept them helpfully bare. Watching Lance squirm against it sealed the deal.  
  
He didn’t move his hand from the other’s slit.  
  
He rocked into him, hard, free hand moving from bruising his waist to tangling into his hair and tugging it back towards him, so he was only halfway on the counter. The mixed sounds of pain and pleasure filtered into Shiro’s ears as him liking it and the muffled pleas to release didn’t phase him at this point.  
  
He ran his tongue along his teeth, moaned out his name, and felt his own stomach tighten. But even in the heat of that moment, Shiro was imaging what he wanted to do _next time_.  
  
Last night, next time hadn’t even seemed like a possibility.  
  
But now, after seeing and feeling him just like this, Shiro decided he wanted to see exactly how far Lance would go. Would he let him tie him up? Would he let him decorate him with wax, turn him into a beautiful masterpiece of color? Would he call him names that made Shiro want to moan and crawl on the floor for him?  
  
He wanted to know just what he’d do. Selfishly, he wanted him _all to himself_. He wanted to disregard the fact that Lance had been like a little brother to him and consider the fact that he was so much more to him now.  
  
And he’d only been home for two days.  
  
After a long moment of being lost in his thoughts, his hand slipped, and he let go of Lance. He figured he might as well allow him to come at this point, and he did just that. His entire body shook like an earthquake with the power of it, Shiro’s name the silky scream that poured from between parted lips and he felt like it was a _siren’s song_ for he didn’t want to stop.  
  
He wanted to make him come again, and again, and again. He wanted to fuck the living hell out of this boy.  
  
But he wouldn’t. Not today.  
  
He shut his eyes tight, getting on his toes and arching over him as he came, feeling his belly clench and release as he moaned out, the fingers that had been lodged in Lance’s hair raking down his back and leaving velvet strips. It was beautiful. He was beautiful.  
  
He allowed himself to relax against him, chest to back, listening to the quiet giggles of happiness from Lance. Why was he laughing? Had Shiro done something wrong?  
  
He decided then that he wasn’t done. Not if he was going to laugh at him.   
  
“What’s so funny?” His displeasure was evident in his voice, but Lance simply shook his head, the crimson still set determinedly across his cheeks and he felt his blood boil. He hadn’t laughed last night. He pulled his boxers and pants back up, belting and zipping them, before turning Lance around to face him. Then he kissed him again, a little softer. But he kept ceaselessly giggling.  
  
He didn't have a clue as to why Lance was finding _anything_ funny.  
  
“Should I make you come again?” he warned lowly, the grumble in his words rigid. But it seemed like Lance was going to take _that_ as a challenge, and he shook his head. Shiro’s thumbs idly rubbed the bruises printed into his skin, mouth slanted into a frown, visibly displeased. Somewhere in between, he’d become smitten with the idea of marking him. Claiming him. Now he just wanted to show him how to _submit_.  
  
“You couldn’t get me off a second time even if you tried.”  
  
Shiro bet he could prove him wrong.  
  
And now they were competitive. Challenging one another. _He_ could be competitive.  
  
Shiro spared little effort flipping Lance, caging him against the countertop, rutting agonizingly slow against his thigh while he licked a stripe up his throat. The younger shuddered, his hands flying to grab the edge of edge cutting into his lower back, lashes fluttering prettily over his cheeks then orbs of glacial _blue_ flying open in surprise as Shiro sunk to his knees, prodding Lance’s legs apart, lips parting indecently as he mouthed along the underside of his still exposed length.  
  
The noise he made in return was music to Shiro’s ears.  
  
Lance continued to hiss low and under his breath, hips rising into empty space while Shiro lapped at the abused head, playfully teasing the slit and not once touching him with his hands. Lance’s pale-knuckled grip on the counters, slacking then bracing, in tandem with harsh breaths that egged Shiro on as he smoothly swallowed him down. Lance nudged the back of his throat and above him he keened needily, hold going vice then into Shiro’s hair.   
  
He desperately _pulled_ and Shiro relented and dropped Lance’s cock from his mouth with a wet sigh. He peered at him with glassy eyes, the air was stolen from his lungs, and teeth biting his lip. His hadn’t hadn’t budged from Lance’s knees and he...  
  
He looked wrecked.   
  
But he lowered himself again anyways, oblivious to Lance’s over-sensitive and albeit weak protests, curling his tongue and hollowing his cheeks until Lance __howled and bucked into the wet heat, lips damp as he swiped his tongue over the bites on them again and again, dropping open when Shiro willingly bobbed his head and took all of him in with little to no effort. The ministrations made him writhe and eventually cry out, both palms flat against Shiro’s skull, and coating his tongue with strings of bitter white.   
  
When he pulled off of him, he sucked another hickey into his thigh. Lance whimpered.  
  
“I’m sorry, Lance. Did you say something earlier? Something I couldn’t do even if I tried?”  
  
Lance swallowed audibly, “no, sir.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
“I’m sorry about the other night,” Shiro said, twiddling his fingers beneath the tabletop and skillfully holding his gaze with a portrait adorning the wall. Lance’s mother laughed boisterously and heartily clapped her hand between his shoulder blades, successfully jostling him forward when he’d been unprepared, her resounding voice possibly the most comforting sound in the house.  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” she told him brightly, “it was just one dinner. You can be here for plenty more, can’t you?” And Lance’s gaze, held over a fork pulling up a web of cheese (and were those potatoes?) from his plate, told him all he needed to know.  
  
He’d be back again and again if Lance asked him to.  
  
Wow, his willingness was kind of shocking.  
  
Lance’s mom spooned a cheddary mess onto his plate, tousled his hair, and started dishing more of whatever was in her pot to the other kids chattering at the table. There were four in total, including Lance, and a babbling baby in a high chair making a mess of his Cheerios. His name was Marco and Shiro _adored_ him. He hit the sturdy plastic table around his waist and Lance reached over, popped a piece of cereal passed his teeth and muttered, “ _eat_ ,” around a mouthful of potatoes and cheddar. Marco mimicked the movement of his jaw, still slobbering cutely over his pudgy fingers, and Shiro _melted_.  
  
It made him wonder what Lance was like at that age, small and flailing, kicking his legs out and blubbering a string of incoherent fricatives that people still tried their best to decipher. What was best about dinner was the light bickering between siblings, Evelyn asking where her _la princesa_ top was, and Lance occasionally assisting Marco with his food.  
  
It was homely. Perfect.   
  
And Shiro suddenly missed Keith. His mom. Their dinners, and his life before college. He stuffed those thoughts into the forgotten recess of his mind and shoveled dinner onto his tongue, whatever conversation he had been having forgotten. He actually had to stop and do a double-take because it was delicious. Deliciously _unhealthy_ , but a grace to his taste buds all the same. He felt Lance’s warmth at his side, leaning carefully into his shoulder, and then ungracefully dumping a wad of chives onto his half-eaten dinner.  
  
“What, don’t like them?” Shiro asked, mouth full.   
  
“I do, but I think you need greens more than I do at this point.” Lance grinned cheekily at him, twirled his fork on his plate, and lingered so far in his space that Shiro unconsciously broke out into a cold sweat. He didn’t want anyone suspecting anything, _god no_ , but it seemed like Lance’s closeness passed off as something normal because no one seemed bothered by it. If anything, _oblivious_ older brother Andre was jokingly elbowing Lance in the ribs and inches between them rapidly declined.   
  
He was fully pressed against his side, now. He took another bite.   
  
Lance’s shoulders suddenly jumped and his mom stood with her hip cocked in the kitchen doorway, voice positively _booming_. Shiro turned his head to her, nearly dropping his fork, and suddenly he was miles from Lance. He might as well as sat at the other end of the table, maybe with Andre between them instead.   
  
“Lance! _Obtener de él, ya está en su espacio de codo_. He can’t very well enjoy his food with you in his way, can he?” Lance brashly offered a reply, after seeing Shiro’s immediate reflex.  
  
“Él está bien, mamá. Creo que aunque le sorprendió. You alright, Shiro?” The look on his face was a mixture of amusement and concern, but Shiro couldn’t help his speeding heart. He was certain his mother was going to say something about them, and she must’ve. Probably about them. But she didn’t seem too worried.  
  
Which meant she didn’t assume what he thought she would’ve.  
  
“Y-Yeah. Just surprised me,” he cleared his throat, waving off the observing, now weirdly-quiet McClain family, but after a long moment they began their chatter once more. He sat back in the spot he had been, Lance close but definitely not hovering a fraction above the expanse of skin his t-shirt didn’t cover, and the dinner continued as if the incident hadn’t happened.  
  
He was too jumpy.  
  
Now that he was overthinking it, he realized that there really wasn’t anything his mom could do if she found out about them. Well, she could _kill_ him.  
  
But Lance was of age and it wasn’t like he was a stranger. He’d known this family his whole life. He’d wager the things he was doing with her son, though, were unthinkable no matter the person he was doing them with. Thank goodness there were secrets, really.   
  
And thank _fuck_ for his ability to keep them.   
  
No thanks to Lance, who was innocently trapping Shiro’s thigh under featherlight fingers. He’d finished eating, was now sipping at a glass of water, chatting playfully with Andre who, too, had his hands full. Marco was squirming giddily in his lap, a good portion of his Cheerios gone, unintelligible warbles bursting passed a barely-there set of teeth. Shiro unthinkingly reached over, shoulder bumping Lance’s chest, and happily tousled the curl of hair flopped over his forehead.  
  
Marco squealed and Shiro wanted Lance’s baby pictures.  
  
After he had fully calmed down from the encounter, he patted his hands on the table and looked over to the rest of the family. “So, when does school start again?” His question was directed to Evelyn, the only one he thought was still in school, but Lance was the one to pipe up instead.  
  
“August 26th,” he murmured, finishing off his glass and holding it out patiently for his mother to refill. “Mama still has to take us school shopping. It’s comin’ up, and I’ve still need a few more notebooks and a binder. Eve over there needs a new shirt.” His insinuation made both his skin crawl and his sister prickle, but the feeling only lasted for a moment before he became confused.  
  
“Wait. I thought you graduated already? You should’ve.”  
  
He went quiet for a minute before cracking a big smile, nudging his shoulder with his own. “Yeah, shoulda. But I got held back for a bunch of skipping and stuff. Gotta reap what you sow, huh?” Lance disregarded any further attempt on the subject, but Shiro was becoming interested. He had never skipped school when he had been watching him. So why had he suddenly started doing it? Had he been scared of him?  
  
No. Ridiculous.  
  
“So, _otra higo_ , what did you study in college? You mentioned something about psychology,” Lance’s father had piped up then after fixing Marco’s highchair, cleaning up the mess he had made and giving him some more Cheerios to gnaw on. His eyes immediately lit up at the sight, and he was tossing them around, and wow Shiro loved kids.  
  
“Yeah! I studied psychology at Berkeley -- “ but he was immediately cut off by Andre, making a scoffing noise in surprise. He seemed more _impressed,_ probably because he had never been the smartest kid in the world and had managed to get into that school. He shook it off and pretended it was because he was happy for him. “-- and just came home with my Bachelors. Now I just need to figure out if I’m going to stay in California or if I’m going to find a job elsewhere.”  
  
“You’re staying in California.” Lance’s voice cut through the air like a sword, shocking the older man not only with his tone but his eyes. He looked like he was going to fall apart if he didn’t stay. His lips parted, Shiro pulled his brows together and slightly cocked his head almost dog-like, confused. “I said you’re staying in California. In Sacramento. On Voltron street. In my neighbor's house.”  
  
“Lance, be polite.”  
  
“No, it’s okay, Mrs. McClaine,” Shiro muttered, gazing straight into Lance’s eyes and feeling… funky. Not good. What he said hadn’t settled quite right in his stomach and chest, and so he cleared his throat and simply got up, moved to the kitchen and deposited his dish into the sink. He never did his own dishes here because he’d simply get yelled at (as always), and so he washed his hands instead and wished everyone farewell before leaving.  
  
He decided to go for a walk.  
  
It wasn’t really what Lance had said that scared him. It was a little bit of the implication, and a lot of his tone of voice and the look he had given him. The implication of staying exactly where he was frightened him because there was no possible way he was going to be able to get a good job and start the career he’s wanted to for almost as long as he could remember if he stayed in California. At least, not in the place they did. He’d needed to move. Whether it be by the town, or city, or state. He didn’t know.  
  
What horrified him was the _longing in his voice._ How he genuinely looked terrified to even think of him leaving. And that’s why he was so worried.  
  
Because he felt that way a bit too. And now he knew exactly why his mom was always asking for updates on his social life, on how he was doing, being clingy every single week as if something was going to change that drastically that quick. Why Lance was clinging to him immediately as he came home.  
  
Did he have feelings?  
  
He needed to get rid of these thoughts before it weighed him down. That was probably what brought him to that liquor store he used to frequent (and steal from often) as a teen, buying a bottle of vodka and orange triple sec to go with it, popping open the former bottle as soon as he left and beginning to drink it down as he was walking back home. His long legs made the mile long walk easy for him, and by the time he was stumbling through the front door, a quarter of the bottle was gone.  
  
He roughly kicked off his shoes, only slightly tipsy thanks to frat parties boosting his alcohol tolerance, setting the unopened liquor on the counter and wandering back to the couch.

  
He’d fucked Lance in the kitchen, and on the couch. He’d probably end up fucking Lance everywhere in this house by the end of the week. The thought flooded him in flustered warmth and he flopped onto the cushion, air expelled from his lungs in one harsh breath. He wiggled his toes in his shoes before chucking them off, now gone somewhere behind the couch, and propped them up on the cushioned arm while he picked up the remote. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first chapter smut was courtesy of me, tiny, and THIS chapters smut is courtesy of daki! ( excluding the bj ;)))) )
> 
> im crediting because i feel like our writing styles are SCARILY similar and i kind of wanted to know if any of you could tell the difference???
> 
> also we're finally starting to get into a plot. sort of. maybe. next chapter will have actual EMOTIONS can u believe

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written smut in years please be kind
> 
> **EDIT: i might make this into a multichapter fic if enough of u want it. daki wants it. i /might/ want it.
> 
> ***EDITx2: its happening guys. YOU made it happen. multi-chap modern shance w/ a twinky twist here we go???


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